


What If I Never Say Anything? Will The Music Fill The Silence?

by Chylance_y



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anxious Richie Tozier, Because like same, Bev Marsh is pure, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Bisexual Richie Tozier, But mostly fluff, Eddie likes taking pictures of pretty things, Fluff and Angst, He's Baby, Intense Bitchie Friendship, M/M, Mike Hanlon Deserves Love, Mike Hanlon is a Good Friend, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Richie's a slut for music, Stozier if you squint really hard, These gays are confused btw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21804049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chylance_y/pseuds/Chylance_y
Summary: Richie Tozier, The Bi, Anxious Mess, stresses WAY too much. But, Hey? Atleast we have Music.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Stenbrough (mentioned) - Relationship
Kudos: 19





	1. Dirty White Converse/Not Here, Not Yet

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! So, anyway, If you read this and u like it, then uhh... Idk, Maybe give me some Kudos so I know u like it! And comment if you have a plot you wanna see! I'm up for writing almost anything!! Or, send it to me @/ Chylance_Chy_Tea on Instagram

"What the hell were you thinking? That’s the thing, you don’t fucking  _ think!  _ Keep your loud mouth shut for once. You dumbass, fucking...  _ LOSER!" _ Richie scolds himself, fixing his tattered reflection in the Freese's window. "Now you look like  _ shit _ . Fuck, fuck, fuck,  **_fuck—_ ** "

"Rich? Hey! Richie?" Beverly calls, her hands in her jacket pocket, pulling out a lighter. She flicks it, lighting the end of the cigarette hanging from her teeth. Richie hastily runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it and wipes his nose on his sleeve. He fakes a cough then turns to face her with a ‘confident’ finger gun. "What’s up? Just Vibin’? Today’s pretty  _ fuckin’ _ good, huh?"

Her auburn hair falls down in her face a bit, coving her sweet baby blue eyes and various freckles. She slides against the brick wall of the ally building. Her converse scratch the gravel under them, their once white sides, dirtied and torn. 

"Glad  _ you  _ think so. I'm not having such a good day myself, honestly. I'm the opposite of fucking  _ good  _ at the moment! Pity me; gimme a hit."

"Oh-kay, buuut, you’ve gotta tell me why your day isn’t so fan-fucking-tastic. Then maybe, I’ll show some mercy." She smiles, taking a drag and sighing. Her eyes soften, "What's wrong, Richie?" She glances up at him, and, though no one else would be able to, he saw a fleck of concern in her sky blue eyes.

"Well… I… I didn't  _ do  _ anything… yet. But just, my  _ ideas _ are shit! I can't even… I don't know! Maybe… maybe  _ I'M _ shit. All I'm good for are dumb jokes and sitting around… not to mention annoying people." He curls up beside Bev, pressing his palm to a forehead of loose, messy curls. He shoves his glasses up with his pinky finger, almost willing to take them off. "I fessed. Now, something helpful, please? My coffin nail, as the boys call it?"

Bev howls, almost snorts, crossing her legs on the ground. "Yeah, right… uh. Sorry… This is my last one." She sounds sorry, but she's nearly doubled over on the ground, clenching her stomach. 

"Dammit, Bev. I'm stressing the fuck out over here!" 

" _ Why,  _ though?”

"I don't  _ know! _ "

Richie's glasses slide down again with the heavy jerk of his head. His palm's pressed against the ground, and the gravel is already leaving an imprint in his skin. His eyes are full of worry, even then magnified by his thick glasses. 

"I'm freaking the fuck out! I just! What if I never say anything… What if… Everything that’s going on leads to  _ nothing. _ And it was all just a waste of time!" His voice rises slowly, his tone screaming from the back of his throat. He cries,5 vc hitching in the middle of the sentence. 

_ What if I never say anything? _

"Rich…" Bev starts, her laughter foregone. She rests her head on his shoulder, his face buried in his clenched knees. 

"Hey," she whispers, "You never know  _ what  _ will happen. That's why you  _ try. _ We're freshmen, Rich. We have time. We aren't going anywhere. Don't rush things, okay? You're too worried about it. Relax. Breathe, okay?"

_ Breathe. _

  
  


"What the hell were you thinking!" Eddie smacks Richie's hand away, trying to conceal a smile. He rolls his eyes, making Richie's grin widens. 

"Oh, come on! You loved it, Eds!" He exclaims, slipping an arm around Eddie's shoulder. "You looooove it when I do shit like that! You just don’t wanna show it!" He smiles wide, pressing his cold, freckled nose to Eddie's warm face. He presses an awkward, wet kiss to his cheek, making him gag and push him away, still smiling.

"The hell? Don't put your Trash-mouth on my skin!! Gross!" He fakes various gagging sounds, then wipes at his face with Richie's sleeve. Yes,  _ Richie's  _ sleeve.

"You're using  _ my  _ fucking sleeve? Figures. What, you don’t have any infection protection? The ole’ germinator-terminator? Out of diseaser displeaser? Maybe in his little goody bag!" Richie rashly unzips Eddie's fanny pack.

His hands move faster than he can register and his thoughts are replaced with  _ only _ Eddie. The way he looks, gorgeous as ever. With his big, beautiful eyes and soft brown hair. His three-button top, jean shorts, and blue, high-top converse. 

The way he smells; Like too much lotion and cleaner. But, at the same time, so fresh and clean. Almost like a doctor's office; with small hints of the cheap fruit shampoo he uses, and his specifically strawberry scented conditioner. 

How his breath smells hot and sticky, almost like honey. How his words run like melted chocolate, and how his sigh lingers in the air with such a saccharine, sweet smell. 

How you can  _ only imagine _ how he tastes… like orange PEZ candy and cream soda. A mixture between a fruit milkshake and a waffle. A bit like the Granny Smith apple he ate for lunch; the one Richie couldn't stop staring at while he ate it. Maybe like the banana milk he shared with Bill… maybe.

But he couldn't taste him. No. He could  _ only imagine.  _ But, that was enough. For now. Barely enough. 

He wanted to hug him there. In the hall, where everyone could see. But no. He couldn't. He just reached into his fanny pack, too close to his thighs. Too near his crotch. Too…  _ touchy. _

_ "Don't touch him. You can't. Not here, not now." _

_ "Not yet." _


	2. Hurricane/ Is that even possible?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, this chapter is longer than the last! Not sure how far I wanna go with this story.... But hey!! 50+ hits and 5 kudos in like... 12 hours? Thanks, guys! 💕 I love y'all btw!!  
> Instagram: @/ Chylance_Chy_Tea  
> Enjoy! 💞

"So…" Eddie starts, after fighting Richie for his multiple pill bottles back.

He can still hear Richie's laugh in his ears, making a snarky comment about each one. Especially since they _both_ know he doesn't need them. He snarled at Richie, gritting his teeth and forcing his eyes wide. " _Give it back, dolt."_

"What do you need?" Richie asks, perking up oddly, and ripping Eddie from his memory. Eddie studies his expression, pursing his lips a bit in confusion. He looks happy, despite almost everything. 

"I need you to wipe that fucking smile off your face. What's got you so happy?" Eddie moves closer to him, nudging him with an elbow. He moves back, but not as far away as before. 

"Same thing as always, being with you, of course!" Richie flirts jokingly. "Hey, speaking of. Wanna hang out tonight? My mom said it's okay, and dad might be at work late so it's no problem!"

"Duh, is anyone else coming?"

"Big Bill volunteered himself and Staniel." He pushes his glasses up, grinning with a glance to the sky. Eddie follows his eyes, seeing the bright blue sky over Derry. Maybe that's what's nice about the small town. The clear sky.

"So just the four of us? I'm sure I can get my mom to agree to something like that…"

"Honey, we both know that's Eddie-code for, ' I'm gonna sneak out and then feel bad about it because I lied to my mommy.' Don't we?" Richie ruffles Eddie's hair, his head cocked and eyebrows questioningly raised on one side.

"There's no such thing a 'Eddie-code', dickwad," Eddie rolls his eyes, using finger quotes to emphasize the words, "and I don't think it's _lying_ per se… Just… not telling the full story. I won't lie, I'll just say, ' I'm going to hang out with Stan and Bill.' It's _technically_ true." Eddie winks, and Richie wraps his hands around Eddie's waist.

He swings Eddie around in the air, twirling him in the air. Eddie whacks at him, only barely missing his head when his arms are fully extended.

"What the _fuck,_ Rich. Put me down! What do you think you're doing?! You're so dead! Stop spinning me, dumbass, I'm gonna vomit on you! Do you know how sick you'll be after I vomit on you? There's a plethora of bacteria in vomit, you idiot!" He swings aimlessly at Richie's arms, kicking his feet at his stomach. 

"Eds… you're so **_cute!_ ** _Cute, cute cute!_ I _love_ you!" He cooed, walking with Eddie in his arms. 

But then he just stops. And Eddie stares at him. Richie's brown eyes are wide, large and open behind coke-bottle glasses lenses. He drops him without warning, letting Eddie fall against the road-side.

"Shit— Eds, I— Fuck. I'm sorry, I've gotta—"

"It's fine, Rich. I'm okay, alright? Scraped my elbow, but good as gold. What ha—" Eddie turns his eyes up away from himself, watching Richie's lip quiver and his eyes shake. Eddie quickly hops up, ready to ask what's wrong.

"Eds, _I gotta go._ I— just come over at six. I'll see you there." His voice wavers, one hand covering his trembling mouth and the other in a tight death-grip around his book bag's strap. He sprints away, leaving Eddie in the dark.

He digs in his fanny pack for band-aid, pulling out a bandage holder full of cartoon-print bandages. He slides a random one out of it, scoffing a smile at the sight of Grumpy Bear's face and dark blue rain clouds. He rolls his eyes, tearing off the paper off the back and carefully maneuvering the adhesive over his scraped arm. He wiped the blood, wiping it on his equally blood-red shorts. 

"Why'd he run away? Did I do something…" He whispers, his lips downturned. 

" _Cute, cute, cute…"_

 _"I just **love** _ **** _you!"_

* * *

_"You said_ **_what?!_ ** _"_ Bev shrieks, startling a younger kid passing by; probably a middle schooler. She waves him off, putting out her cigarette on the ground next to them.

"You know I can't control what I say! I'm _unpredictable_! I'm like a fucking hurricane!" He gives a pitiful laugh, more like a mixture between a sigh and a sob. He wipes his nose with the side of his hand, proceeding to wipe it against the brick wall. The texture of the brick scratching his hand and leaving faint white lines. 

"The good thing? He probably won't remember it. You know him, he might not 'ave heard ya, or maybe just didn't think of it romantically." 

"But what if he _does?_ Then what the fuck do I _do?_ It's not like I can ignore the fucker, I see him everyday and might kill myself if I don't!" Richie sighs, audibly loud; the heavy air escaping his lungs helplessly. He grips his shoulders, pulling on his t-shirt sleeves. He unties the denim cardigan from his waist and slips it on, despite the fairly warm fall weather. One hand slides through loose dark chocolate curls, the other gripping the hem of his shirt worriedly. 

He plays with one hole at the bottom of his shirt, searching his pockets for something, _anything_ he can fidget with. He picks at a scab on his arm, waiting for Bev– _anyone_ to say something.

She opens her mouth, leaving it agape for a moment, then promptly shuts it. She repeats this a few times, three to be precise. And all three times, no words escape her pink, smoke-scented lips. 

Richie starts again, trying to clear the silence. His voice comes out different than he'd hoped initially, tired and soft, not used to being docile for so long.

"He's coming over later, at least– I still hope he's coming over later. He never _actually_ said yes to coming… I know he _planned_ on it, but, I don't know…" He sighs again, but it lacks any malice. His tone is submissive, something rare but just as equally painful.

"Should… should I bring it up? Or, just hope he forgot? What if he asks me. Fuck, Bev, what if _he_ asks _me!_ What the hell am I supposed to do in that shit show of a situation?!" He bites at his lip, hands shaking. He wasn't lying about needing that cigarette earlier. 

"Rich… Honey, I'm so sorry. Look… call me later if anything happens," she hesitates, looking at the ground and kicking a rock away, "I have to go… but please," she kisses his cheek, a few centimetres from his lips.

"Please don't worry about this too much, okay, idiot? You guys are always okay after everything. I've seen it, and I know it, just… _promise_ you won't stress out too much? Alright?"

"Yeah, yeah… _I promise_." He agrees, standing up and holding a hand out to help Bev off the ground. His shoulders clench, shaking. She squeezes his hand, making him relax a bit.

"Let's get you home. I'm hungry." Bev deadpans, rubbing her stomach. **Richie laughs**.

* * *

Eddie walks across the kissing bridge, fully bandaged and good as new. He sighs, looking over into the stream. He smiles a bit, the fall grass covered in a few resplendent red, brown, orange and yellow leaves. _"Cute."_ He thinks out loud.

**_"I_** **_love you."_** His head repeats in the back of his thoughts. No fucking way he heard it, no, it was his imagination. That, or _he said it._ _Did_ he? _Why?_

He doesn't _love_ Richie? No, _no way? Right?_ "Just _friends._ Just _best friends…_ He doesn't love me? Right? No, I just imagined it… but _why?"_ He mumbled, nearly tripping over himself. 

_"I love you… I love you? I love you. I love… you?"_ He repeats, turning to look back at the bridge, trotting back to the edge of the bridge and looking down into the water.

**_"You_ ** _love_ **_me?_ ** Do you really? Or is that what **_I_ ** want? Do **_I_ ** _love_ **_you?"_ **He ponders, stopping in his tracks. 

_"Is that even_ **_possible_ ** _?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So uh, I'm hoping to update once or twice every week... Maybe depending on my schedule? But thanks for those who leave kudos! And I will be writing more so stay tuned, lovelies! 💕


	3. Spaghetti-o's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bunch of Bitchie friendship fluff. Also, some great mom™ screentime!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! My Mum's getting Surgery today so I'll be writing quite a bit! I'll still mainly follow through with my post schedule... Okay, anyway! On to the story! Hope you enjoy💕

__ Richie's heart races as he himself races home. Bev runs along side him, quickly catching up with her scuffed converse pounding the uneven pavement. 

"Wait, Trashmouth, what day is it?" Bev asks, slowing down. Richie slows his pace, stepping in rhythm with her.

"Uhh… fuck, Wednesday?" He cocks his head, a grin on his face. His eyes are glossed with confusion and curiosity. "Why, what's up, Darlin'?"

"Taco Tuesday leftovers! Fuck yeah!" She cheers, raising her arms over her head and kicking her leg forward in the air. Richie laughs at her, always amazed at how carefree and beautiful her eyes shone. 

"Darling, you are a mystery". Is all he says, smiling. He stops her, kneeling in the middle of the road.

"Oh, Richie!" She squeals jokingly, "O' course I'll'a marry you!" She giggles at her own joke, making Richie roll his eyes.

"Sorry, Sweetheart, my finger's reserved for the Kasbrak lineage. That also includes the rest of my hand and my entire body~" Richie winks, "Can't have Mrs.K on my ass about getting a new chick. I've already got one as it is now!" He pulls out a Discman, handing one earphone to Beverly. They both sing along to the music, walking home closely. 

  
  


**_Denice Williams_ ** quickly rang through the silence of the walk.  _ This was one of Eddie's  _ **_favourite_ ** _ movies…  _ Richie thinks to himself. He smiles weakly at the thought, singing  _ almost _ perfectly in sync with the music. Bev joins in, clearly not thinking about Eddie or remembering this was one of his favourite movies.

_ Maybe she doesn't know he loves this movie… she might not remember he said something about that… but I do. And that's wrong, isn't it? _

"Rich?" Bev asks. The music still plays but he isn't singing anymore; he can't even hear the music. Neither is Bev. The smile on her face is still there, but it looks strained.  _ You're worrying her. Don't make her have to worry.  _ He thinks, clearing his throat.

Bev's tone is worried, wavering as she speaks the…  _ almost  _ obvious. "You stopped singing?" Her eyes are full of content again, but it's her voice that gives it away.

And Richie thinks his clearly does too. "I'm fine?" He says, his voice a bit shrill.  _ Uncalled-for.  _ He thinks, his face erubscent. 

_ "Rich…"  _ she wasn't even  _ trying  _ to hide it. Her tone was dripping with concern, dripping like an overflowing sink full of emotion. 

But she didn't push it. She just stood closer, walked slower, glanced more. She didn't push it; she pushed herself. Closer. 

"Bevvy." Richie starts, he kneels down on the side of the road, signalling for Bev to get on his back. "Piggy back!" He smiles. It doesn't feel forced, but he knows it is. 

Bev's smile isn't forced either, at least, not the sliver of it Richie catches from the corner of his eye. She hops on without protest, wrapping her arms around his neck to rest near his collar bone. Her legs twist around his thin-framed waist, gentle but sturdy. 

  
  


Beverly finally hops off as soon as there's food on the table. Which is AFTER She and Richie go inside, talk to Maggie Tozier, and look through the fridge. For reasons she wouldn't disclose, Maggie was making brownies. Bev offered to 'clean' the bowl of batter, scraping the sides of the bowl with a silver spoon. 

"Richard." Maggie starts, Beverly looks up at her, chocolate surrounding her lips. "You've got something in your room."

"Oh! A present! For me!" He smiles. But it fades away, his mouth in a bit of a grown instead. A fake one, sure, but a frown. "Ma! My birthday was four month ago! And Christmas isn't for another five!" His smile's back, finding it hard to act sad when he has a surprise! 

"I never said what  _ kind  _ of surprise, did I?" Maggie smirks. Richie sticks out his tongue, rushing up the stairs. 

"Wait for me!" Bev calls from the kitchen. He's already up the stairs, hopping in his spot impatiently waiting for her. 

"Come on, Bev! I'm gonna burst through the damn door in a second!!"

"You can go in! Just don't open the gift yet! Wait for me!"

  
  


With her permission, Richie burst through the door excitedly. He freezes in place, his feet stuck to the ground like they were caught in glue. Eddie stood in front of him, right next to his bed, right there in his room; where he's been a thousand times. But this time was different. Because  _ Richie  _ was silent. This time was different because Eddie's eyes stung red and they snapped as soon as Richie's hand dropped from the handle. 

" _ Brownies…"  _ he whispers, getting a more stern look from Eddie.

Eddie opens his mouth, ready to speak, but is cut off before his lips can move. Bev's footsteps fill the silence as they pound heavily on the steps. She rushes in, her smile wide. But the life drains from her eyes when she sees them. When she sees  _ Eddie. _

_ "Uh-oh, Spaghetti-o." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, great, iconic lines... Anyway, I hope you enjoyed a little bit XD I'll be back sometime later! Maybe today, maybe next week, maybe tomorrow, who TF knows!  
> ((Don't forget to leave kudos if you liked it TwT thanks to those who did))


	4. Friends Love Eachother/You hesitated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie's at Richie's house. Beverly is a slut for Brownies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being gone so long— Hehehe, anyway, hope u enjoy... It's an odd chapter, but remember!! Richie has intense anxiety; also, I base most of his symptoms off of my own, so if something is off, pls tell me!! Enjoy🌻

"Ed—" Richie tries to speak, but the words get caught in his throat like thick honey. 

"What did you mean?" Eddie's own voice was on the verge of breakage. He cleared his throat quietly after speaking, hoping to clear the fear in his voice. But it sticks like molasses, only, not so sweet. 

Brownie crumbs fall from Beverly's mouth, her pink lips parted in confusion and shock. She backs up, silently moving back toward the kitchen; her blue-green eyes are wide in shock.

"What did you mean?" Eddie repeats; he sinks into himself, arms crossed and back slouched against the bedpost. "When you said you loved me?" He paused minutely before saying 'Loved', like he had to decide his words carefully. In a way, he did.

Bev's footsteps froze in the hallway, then quickened, trying to be quiet; and a shudder sends down Richie's spine. 

He bites his tongue, debating on what to say. He settled for

"We're best friends, aren't we?" Richie says after a long time. His gaze avoids Eddie's. He stares down at the stars doodled on his jeans from History class. 

"You paused…"

"Sorry, I was just…"

"You're pausing…"

"Eds, I needed to—"

"You're lying. Why are you lying? What is there to  _ lie  _ about!" Eddie's voice rang through the room, sending vibrations through the floor that shook Richie's stomach. He pushed his glasses down, taking them off. His head ached. He shakily sighed into his hand with a laborer breath. 

"Eds, give me a second, okay? Please? I'm sorry I just—" Richie sat down on the floor, grabbing the trashcan by his bed. He dry heaves over the top of it, furrowing his eyebrows with a heavy frown; when his mouth wasn't preparing to project anything.

_ "Rich?!" _

"I'm fine, just—"

_ "Richie!!" _

"Eddie! Give me a  _ fucking _ se– Second! Please." 

Eddie was frozen in his spot, pushing against the bedpost. He covered his own mouth, the noises of Richie's heaving setting off his own. 

" 'chee, please don't lie to me. I want you to tell me what the you mean, and I fucking mean it. I want to know what it meant to you, I'm losing my shit over all these fucking possiblities I can't—"

One of Richie's lanky arms reach up and rest on Eddie. His cold finger twine around Eddie's warm red ones. A red blush covers Richie's pale green-faced cheeks. 

"Spaghetti, We're friends, yeah?"

Eddie's breath shakes again, but he sighs a wavering, "Yes."

"And friends… they love each other, yeah?"

"But you  _ ran away  _ after you said it. It has to  _ mean  _ something!"

Richie's fingers tensed, he thought his eyes might water, they stung like bramble. He shivered again, making Eddie flinch. 

"It means… it…— Ugh!" Richie outbursts, frustrated. "It means I suck ass at expressing emotions!! I'm— Ugh!!" He falls backward, his back against the floor. Eddie falls with him, not prepared for the tug.

He fell on top of Rich, hitting his nose on Richie's 'emo' Nirvana t-shirt, as Eddie would call it. He grunted with pain, feeling his nose to make sure it wasn't bleeding. It wasn't, but he felt how warm his face was

Richie wasn't expecting the fall either, letting out a hard "Oof" after getting hit with Eddie's small but surprising impact. 

"What the fuck, Trashmouth!" Eddie asks, holding his nose and feeling to make sure it wasn't broken. 

Richie laughed. The corners of his eyes watered, the tears that threatened earlier, tears of fear, were replaced with that of joy; and pain. His laugh was light and airy, swift but there. _Right there._ _In front of him._ Eddie smiled, debating whether to laugh with him or yell at him. He didn't choose, he just fell back on to— _into_ Richie.

" _ Friends. Friendsfriendsfriendsfriendsfriends… Friends love each other… But I didn't imagine it. He said it. He said he loves me!! Helovesmehelovesmehe— He loves his  _ friend."

He surrendered to the feel of Richie's shirt under him. With Richie inside, of course.  _ Don't think of him without his shirt!! Not in this predicament!! Idiot!!  _

He could smell Richie's cologne; despite the rich smell, it was cheap. Cheap on-sale cologne mixed with some of his dad's old, more expensive cologne.  _ He smells like a hundred bucks, and looks near a million. _

**_"Do I_ ** _ love  _ **_you?"_ ** Eddie's thoughts repeated for the tenth time today. This time, he had an answer.

**_"I have to._ ** _ That's what this is." _

**_"Love."_ **

"I love you, Ed's."


	5. Lying and Lemon Starbursts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this follows the last chapter exactly, be sure you remember it. If you need, go back and re-read atleast the last part. Enjoy!

"See!" Eddie exclaims, jumping out of the embrace and standing over Richie; who's completely dumbfounded. "You said it  _ again!  _ It— You—!"

"Spaghetti man." Richie whispered, laughing silently. "We just talked about this. Please stop yelling, too. Please?" Richie's eyes were wide and afraid, brown lakes that Eddie almost sunk down into, despite the fact that a 'brown lake' sounded absolutely disgusting. 

"Sorry." Eddie huffs, rubbing the bridge between his eyes. He sits down on the bed and Richie sits up. He scoots next to Eddie's legs, laying his head on Eddie's knees. 

"Don't be sorry." Richie mumbles, hopping up onto the bed next to him. He picks up Eddie like a child, his hands under Eddie's arms, lifting him onto his lap. 

_ "I need to know. I want to know. I need to know. I want to know. I need to know…" _

"Rich." Eddie's face was red, erubscent. He felt sick, that was part of it. The other part was fear. Wonder. He had to lie; not to his mom, not to his teachers, not to Bill or any of the other Losers. But to his best friend, one of his most  _ important _ best friends. He had to  _ lie  _ to  _ Richie. _

"I need to know you're not lying." Richie's face lit up the same red when Eddie spoke. Not just the way his voice sounded; saccharine and serious; but the demand in both his eyes and words.

"Kiss me. So I know you don't love me."

His logic was flawed, so  _ very _ flawed. A  _ kiss? _ How could  _ a kiss _ let someone know if  _ another _ loved them or not. His logic would've been true, if he wouldn't have  _ lied.  _ But, he didn't have time for logic. Just time for an answer. 

Richie shuddered, his mouth quirking in odd places. His eyes shot open and his eyebrows almost blended with his wavy hair's end. He barely noticed the logical flaw. How could he? So many things stimulated his senses.

The smell in the air choked him, and Eddie was right there on his lap. He was waiting, patiently. His eyes were still open, and Richie saw the slight movements they made to study Richie's face. His breath was shaking, he thought he might vomit again. He swallowed harshly. His breath tasted like a pack of sixlets he'd popped on the way home with Bev. 

_ "He's gonna know I'm lying. He's gonna know and he's gonna hate me and he'll never talk to me and—" _

"Rich." 

_ "I have to do this. I can't tell him no. I can't make up a valid reason. He's gonna know. He's gonna know and it'll be my fault."  _

He couldn't ignore the weight of Eddie on his lap. Eddie inched closer while Richie's eyes were closed. He could see the scatter of freckles and a few acne patches on Eddie's rather perfect skin. He could count every beauty mark, every mole; as if he hasn't already.  _ 17\. And too many freckles. Seventeen's my new lucky number. _

His mouth felt dry, but he could practically see himself salivating over the thought of Eddie's soft, honey-infused sun-protection moisture-filled chapstick-covered lips. He's replayed so many possibilities of Eddie's taste in his mind before, sometimes on accident, other times to keep him busy during class. 

_ September 2nd- Cherries (he had those during lunch), peppermint (Christmas-y?), regular mint (he had those nasty breath strips), oranges (he had orange juice for breakfast, and a clementine. _

_ September 12th- Sour patch kids (I shared), cookie dough (my mom had some leftovers and I brought it in a Ziploc for the Losers), honey and ginger (he drank some nasty smelling tea, I'm sure it tastes good though), applesauce. _

His imagination was also there today, twice. Once in class and another time on the way home.

  


_ October 5th- Lemon Starbursts (they're his favourite. I remembered that.), like orange PEZ candy, cream soda, A mixture between a fruit milkshake, a waffle with syrup, A bit like a Granny Smith apple (he ate one for lunch) Maybe like banana milk (he shared with Bill)  _

_October 5th (On the bed)-_ _banana bread (he actually smelled a lot like banana, his mom made some bread the other night.), Brownies (homemade! By Mrs. Maggie Tozier herself!), Mint, white chocolate, an orange Lollipop_

_ "I wanna taste it. I wanna see if I'm right." _

" _ Just kiss me already, I wanna see if I'm right." _

**"Please?"**


	6. Angel on the Shoulder: Part ½

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ;) it has a cliffhanger but the next part will be up soon so don't @ me

Richie forced his lips tight, grabbing at the sides of Eddie's head. His only 'kiss' was a messy, accidental one in the fifth grade.

_ It was the late spring of '86, Stan and Richie were headed home, together. They'd walked home together since the fourth grade, when the school became marginally closer to their neighborhoods. Stan was getting taller, a bit taller than Richie at the moment; having his growth spurt in mid-april. Richie reached up to hug Stan at the same time Stan was reaching down. Their lips brushed each other's and they stood there a second before blushing and eventually laughing it off. That was their first kiss, both of theirs. But, they never considered it such, truthfully.  _

Richie had never kissed anyone, not a real kiss, and not a real person. He was clueless. 

His lips were pursed, eyes shut tight and hands cupping Eddie's head in what felt like a death grip. He tried to relax, feeling Eddie's soft hair under his fingertips. He released his tight lips, letting them slit and spill a shaky breath. He moved closer to Eddie's face, close enough to feel Eddie's breath residing in his own mouth. He opened his eyes to see that Eddie's were forced shut. He was waiting. 

All Richie could really do was feel. Feel the ache in his stomach, how warm Eddie's breath was, how soft Eddie's hair was. How Eddie's hands were close to him, laying relaxed but shaking against Richie's thighs through his jeans.  _ Okay, try not to feel that one.  _

How cold Eddie's skin seemed to feel. Not cold at all, actually, but burning under Richie's hands. 

"You're sure you want me to do this, yeah?" He whispers, not listening to the words that decide to come out of his mouth. 

Eddie mumbles something, too long to be a no but too quiet to know if it's a yes. 

_ Just do it. Just do it. Just do it. _

_ Honey, I can't do it. _

_ "You've got this, Rich." Richie hears, but Eddie's lips never move an inch.  _

He shivers, getting a handful of Eddie's hair and quickly moving his other hand to Eddie's back. Eddie's hands rest on Richie's hips. Richie pulls him up onto himself, kissing him to the best of his abilities. His lips are tensed and so are Eddie's, he can feel it. Eddie's nails stab into Richie's side. His hands shake rapidly, so do Richie's though; they're trembling on Eddie's back. 

Eddie gradually relaxes, his lips falling apart from their tight close. He shivers, moving closer to Richie for warmth. It doesn't feel intimate. It feels  _ nice.  _ It's not sexual, it's too simple, too different.  _ This feels right. I think this is how it's supposed to feel. He's so warm, and I'm comfortable now… should I be? I think it feels right… _

Richie, who's apparently gained the knowledge of a great kisser from absolutely nowhere, moves at the chance of an 'opening'. Literally. His hands aren't necessarily relaxed; but they grip at the edge of Eddie's shirt. One, still leaning on Eddie's head, pushes Eddie's head to an angle so Richie can kiss him better. So he can be closer. 

_ He's definitely gonna know now, you're going too far.  _ **_Don't listen to him, he's just worried. Don't be worried. It's just Eddie._ ** _ It's Eddie, and he knows everything, and he's going to find out you're gay, and he's gonna hate you.  _ **_He hasn't pulled away, he's relaxed._ **

The part of him, that some might consider the 'angel' upon the shoulder, was right. He was still here, and he wasn't going to leave anytime soon by the feel of it. Richie could hear music playing, probably in his head. He was like a broken jukebox; you could pay for a song and have it play hours later.

Richie  wanted _ needed  _ Eddie closer. He picked him up by his hips and put Eddie right in the centre of his crossed legs. 

Eddie moved away fairly fast, after kissing for a minute or three. His eyes were still screwed shut but he took large breaths. Richie continued to kiss the corners of Eddie's mouth.

_ I've wanted this for a while.  _ Richie thinks to himself.  _ I don't want him to leave.  _ Richie's long arms wrap around Eddie's waist, it's almost like a hug. 

**"I think… I love you. I think I'm in love with you."**


	7. Copy and Paste / Photograph (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im not sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, I just made an mlm account on insta so if you wanna check it out it's @ flower.boy_mlm 🌼
> 
> edit: Thanks for 200 hits! 🌺

"I think… I love you. I think I'm in love with you."

They don't know which one of them spoke, the same words one was thinking flowed straight off the tip of the other's tongue. They're both wide eyed. Eddie can't see Richie's face, his face buried in Richie's neck. They both breathe heavily; falling into an unsteady laughter. Richie tugs at Eddie's shirt and Eddie fights with tangles in Richie's short curls. 

"You think you do? You think you… are?" Richie asks, his lips are crooked in a smile, centimetres apart.

"You said that, idiot… but, _are_ _you?"_ Eddie lifts an eyebrow in confusion, still smiling. 

_ I didn't say anything.  _

"I didn't say anything?" Richie moved back to take a look at Eddie's eyes. They're big and brown, specks of gold and flakes of confusion blended in like a potion. His brows are furrowed. Richie's voice rings in the air.

"Do you love me?" Eddie asks, taking a pause to contemplate his words. His eyes sparkle with fear, so beautiful but big and glossed. His voice has more demand than confusion, but the demand is controlled by the  _ fear  _ in his voice. 

Richie nods, his eyes open wide. "Of course I do." He whispers. "We—"

**_"Dammit Richard!!"_ ** Eddie pushed Richie off of him, crossing his arms and curling up.  **_"I don't want to hear you say that you love me 'because we're friends' one more fucking time! Please!"_ ** His voice rings through the room, hitting the walls and coming back for Richie to hear again and again. 

Richie makes incoherent noises, most sounding like the start of a sentence that's caught in his throat. "Ahh… ah, ihh, hh." Eh, close enough to what you could hear.

"Forget this. I'm leaving! Sorry to be a waste of time…" His lips are downturned and he stares down at the floor. He looks dejected, holding himself because he had to let go of Rich. 

"I'm sorry." Richie blurts finally. "Please, let's just… be quiet and let's talk about this." His voice breaks, barely above a whisper. Eddie fumes, looking scared. He's paper; a little fear and he's crumpled and tossed. Richie grabs at Eddie's cheeks with his hands, cupping it awkwardly. 

"Rich…"

"Eds, let's just talk about it."

"Richie…"

"Eddie, you're my friend I want you to understand what I mean. By that and by everything and…"

Friend.

_ Friend. _

**_You're my friend._ **

He was already halfway out the door. Eddie pushed Richie's hands away from his face, biting his lip and grinding his teeth. His footsteps echoed in the empty carpeted hallway.

Richie tries to run after him, just barely succeeding. He trips down the last steps and runs out the door. 

"Eds? You can't run  _ that  _ fast! Where did you go! Eds!" Richie hears the door behind him, his mother wide-eyed in the window. Eddie steps out the door; his face is scrunched up. It looks like he's holding back tears. He might be.

"Eddie!" He sighs in relief. His eyes magnify as Eddie walks away. His arms are crossed and he's staring down at his shoes. 

"Eddie? Seriously? What's up? What the fuck was that about?"

_ "Do  _ **_not_ ** _ act like you don't know. I'm not up for this fucking  _ **_game._ ** _ You've won, okay? I give up. Butidonotwanttokeephearingabouthow–"  _ Eddie's words get slurred together, he walks urgently, Richie follows him like a child. 

"Where are you going?" Richie can barely keep up with Eddie's pace. He can't see his face either, it's hidden behind loose hair his mom hasn't cut yet.

**_"Home!_ ** _ Richie. I'm going HOME."  _ His voice shakes and he shivers. 

It isn't cold. It's far from cold. Richie's watched a lot of movies, he's thinking about being a producer; but in most romance movies, this part is shot in the rain. The girl walks off into the cold rain, hair dripping, crying. While the guy waits behind. Not minding the rain. Standing there. 

It's just like that now. Except the sun is shining in early fall. It hasn't rained in a week, and that was a light drizzle if anything. You might understand why someone would stand out in the rain, crying; but not in the late days of Summer.

Eddie lied, he's been on a good lying streak today. He wasn't going home. Well, maybe it wasn't a lie. That  _ was  _ his plan… but then he thought about it. He'd been crying, he looked messy, his lips were probably… It wasn't the best idea if his mother would be there. 

So where better to go than the Denbrough's, of course. Eddie walked a few blocks, ran another two, and ended up at Bill's doorstep. His finger rang the old-fashioned doorbell. Georgie opened the door, smiling at Eddie.

He was still relatively short for a ten year old, forced to look up to see all of Bill's friends, but he didn't have to break his neck to look up at Eddie. There was only about a foot difference, maybe a little less. Georgie's blond hair was always so soft, Eddie greeted him with a ruffle of his hair. 

"Hey, Georgie." Eddie returns the smile, only with a few more teeth. 

_ "Georgie, who's at the door?"  _ His mom, Sharon, calls. Bill appears in the doorway, eyebrows raised. Georgie opens his mouth to respond but Bill's ahead of him. 

_ "It's Eddie, m-mom."  _ Bill invites him in. Eddie gives Georgie a hug, smiling at how he never seems to change no matter how big he gets. He can still see the good in things, despite being blind in one eye. 

"G-Georgie, why don't you hang out w-with Eddie while I make some t-tea." 

Georgie's room remained the same over the few years Bill and Eddie have been friends. Only minor changes like the placement of the bed, the amount of awards and pictures on the walls, the canvas desk he'd gotten for his eighth birthday. He was a great artist, Richie gave him art lessons. Bev tried teaching him how to sew; Eddie doesn't know if he remembers how to now though. 

Richie would come over every Wednesday, if he wasn't tutoring someone after school, and give Georgie art lessons. He'd always chat with him and show him something new. Sometimes Georgie taught Richie, other times Richie taught him. And sometimes, they'd both just perfect skills. It was usually just Richie and Georgie, but Bill, Bev, and Eddie have all been in the room with them; Eddie most of all. 

Whenever Richie  _ was  _ tutoring, he'd send Eddie to Bill's house. Sharon and Zach left the door unlocked between 3:00-3:15. Richie wouldn't ever lock the door when he got there. 

But when it was just Eddie visiting, He'd make sure to lock the door. Every time. No one ever complained, they were usually undisturbed. It makes Eddie feel better though, it always does. He'd go up to Georgie's room, knock, and then let himself in after Georgie knocked back. It meant he was ready for Eddie to come in. 

Eddie never taught George how to draw. He could barely draw himself, only managing still life and occasional fantasy creatures. He was great at drawing people; faeries, elves, mages, only problem was he had a 1/50 chance for the drawing to look good. Richie gave him drawing lessons as well, whenever they were doing some kind of people, Richie and George would both let Eddie come in and watch. 

Eddie taught Georgie how to photograph. He owned a Polaroid and taught Georgie everything about photography he knew. He taught him what lighting is best, how to take pictures of moving things, how to use a camera. He used many different models of camera, some digital and others "traditional". Georgie had lots of photographs he and Eddie took on the walls of his bedroom. 

He had pictures of almost everything he could find. Flowers, the quarry, boats by the shore. He had a picture of Richie, Eddie, Bill, Bev, Stan, Ben, and Mike on the wall; he'd offered to take it on a warm day last spring.

Eddie's eyes dart to the picture now, still on the wall in the same place as before. His gaze is set on Richie, who's standing right next to him in the photo. He smiles widely and his eyes are bright. They're still shining now, bright golden brown. Eddie's noticed that. He's taken time to look at them, try to understand them. 

He sits on the bed with Georgie, asking him if he's drawn anything lately. He smiles, digging in his bedside desk drawer. He pulls out thick paper, a bit of smudged graphite lines the back. He smiles and turns it around for Eddie to see.

"It's the picture I took, that one of all of you!" Georgie points to the wall, his finger directing toward the picture Eddie stared at on his way in. 

The drawing is  _ great. _ The people have moved and they aren't exactly the same, but they're amazing to say the least. Bev and Ben stand next to each other, Bev is smiling wide and her eyes are half closed; just like in the photograph. Ben has an arm around Bev's waist. 

Bill and Stan are next to each other with Mike right behind them. Bill gives Stan bunny ears and Mike gives them to Bill; his other hand is on Stan's shoulder. 

Then there's Richie and Eddie, who, like in the original photograph, are standing next to each other. But they're different. Eddie's smile is full of content, Richie winking at him with an arm slunk around Eddie's shoulder. Richie's head sits on the top of Eddie's head, cocked to the side a slight bit. Eddie's eyes are rolling to the right, away from where Richie's head is sitting; he's smiling, hard enough to think he was hiding a laugh.

Eddie stared at it with eyes of sorrow, but his look instantly changed when he saw the sadness and confusion on Georgie's face. He smiled, genuinely. The drawing was amazing; he wanted a copy for himself.

"Richie taught me about fluidity. How to make a picture look alive you need to have interactions. Movements and eyes tell a lot about a person, or a story."

"What story does this tell?" Eddie asks. 

Bill knocks at the door. "Georgie, Eddie? Tea's done."

Georgie gets up, reaching for Eddie's hand to walk out.

_ "It tells the story of love. It's the perfect story for a picture like that." _ Georgie whispers. 

Eddie mumbles the sentence in verbatim, " _ it tells the story of love. it's the perfect story for a picture like that…" _


	8. (Drain You)r sorrows in the tub// Richie Tozier Takes A Bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for being gone for so long!!! I wanna get back into this, I'm still 104% into the fandom, and I still love this ship, I just wanna make another story too! So, be on the look out if you like reading my stories, It probably won't be fanfiction, but it'll still be mine! —🥺Lance🎈

_ One baby to another says “I'm lucky to've met you.”  _

Richie's record spins in circles, the needle buoyantly bobbing on the vinyl. 

_ I don't care what you think unless it is about me. _

His eyes water, and he sniffs, his mouth syncs with the song, but he doesn't try to sing; the words would come out mumbled and crooked. 

_ It is now my duty to completely drain you _

His tears soak into the pillow he has clenched to his chest. They drop down his chin; dampening and darkening the dark grey case his mom found in a thrift store. 

_ I travel through a tube and end up in your infection _

“Richie??” Bev hits the door so hard Richie's surprised she hasn't cracked a hole in the fragile wood. 

“Fuck off.” Richie says, putting on his strongest voice. It works because he sounds more mad than broken; he wasn't going for mad, but if it works it works. Bev's knocking quiets, and he can barely make out an audible sigh through the walls and over the music. 

_...back and forth _

_in a passionate kiss_

_ from my mouth to yours _

_ I like you _

Richie buries himself under layers of blankets; a thin bedsheet, a throw blanket that Eddie got him for Christmas, a larger blanket that Mike had given him for secret Santa one year (it was made from soft sheep wool, Mike said he sheared the sheep himself), and a large comforter covered in sew-on patches as well as a handful of iron-on ones.

He nearly suffocated under the heavy pressure of the blankets, letting himself out from under them after a minute or two. He kicks them off annoyedly with a heavy sigh.

* * *

The faucet runs over Richie's red knuckles, steam running off them after darkening the pink skin's hue. He sits on the side of the tub, letting the hot water fill the old fiberglass basin.

He pours some of his mom's soaps and oils in; cherry bubble solution, kiwi scented body wash, coconut oil, lavender essential oil, lemon bath-salt. She took a bath every week, usually to relieve stress from work (and sometimes home)

Richie takes off his bracelets and his necklace, setting them on the counter in a messy pile. He takes his shirt off too, laying it on the side of the laundry bin his mom keeps in the bathroom.

The mirrors were already fogging, gathering moisture and precipitation from the bath's steam. Richie took an unsteady breath in, letting the steam fill his lungs. He chokes on the thick air, sitting on the counter and unbuttoning his jeans. He lights an incense, then a cigarette. The smoke rises into the dense air like a grey dawn-break; it curls around in the air, twirling like a gymnast ribbon. 

The dark blue, white washed jeans, slide off and fall to the floor. The tiles, wet and sticky, cling to his feet with each step he takes across the empty bathroom. He turns on the sink, running the end of the cigarette under the cool stream. It goes out with a sizzle, small but echoing around the sink's basin. The smoke puffs up, then dies out. He sets the wet butt in his dad's cigarette tray. 

Richie's skin turns pink, in contact with the steaming water. The old house's hot water was always available, a plethora of it in the pipes or whatever the fuck. Richie didn't care about the pipes or the heat. He cared about washing away the feeling; the pain and heartache. 

He cringes in pain, his red toes curling under what feels like the increasing heat of the bath water. He sharply inhales through clenched teeth, his whole body shaking. 

“Richard!” It's his mom. She's at the door. She doesn't knock hard, but the sound of pounding rings heavily as Richie flinches in surprise and fear. “Rich, are you okay? We're worried about you. Can I come in?” Her voice was laced with genuine concern; we the echo of her voice copied, bouncing off the different bathroom walls. Bev was out there with her. 

“I'm naked.” He says flatly; it's not a lie. His skin is covered only by a towel and his design-covered boxers. 

“Like we haven't seen anything, Richie.” Bev replies this time, she sounds sad, that, or she's upset with him. He prays it isn't the latter. 

He can see their faces through the steam and door; the way his mother eyes Beverly with a bit of a smile, her focus still turned to the door in front of them. She eyes the handle, then the crack between the floor and the bottom of the door. 

He can see Bev's red eyes, thinking of all the possible reasons they could be red. Smoking? Crying? Rubbing them too hard out of pure shock? Insomnia? All valid reasons, she'd say. 

He can see how red his own eyes are; they're reflected oddly in the steaming mirror. He closes his eyes and rubs his hand over them, letting his fingers relax over his temple. 

"You can come in. But I'm still taking a bath." He finally says back. He opens his eyes and they have trouble adjusting to the timeless darkness that looms over the room. When did it get so late in the day? Was he too busy with Eddie that he didn't recognize time was passing by like a speeding car on the highway? 

He unlocks the door, then cracks it open a bit. He still has his boxers on, but his towel is placed in the towel holder. 

The door opens with a small groan, almost too quiet and too quick to even hear over the running water. Richie shuts off the tap, taking a seat on the countertop. Beverly's face is red, but it's hard to compare to the deep pink pigment of Richie's own skin. 

**"Can you** **_talk_ ** **to me!?"** She yells, "We are over here in the  _ dark _ ! Eddie  _ ran out _ of the house in a matter of  _ seconds;  _ and now, you're in here, trying to find an excuse not to talk to us?" She raised her voice even higher, making exaggerated pantomiming arm movements. He could clearly see the flush of anger on her face. His lip quivered, making him bite his tongue. 

She gives a sorry sigh, letting her tense shoulders slump at her sides. She tries to smile, ultimately failing; then her lips relax too, only curling at the edges. "Take your bath then come talk to us. I can go make some tea. Or, whatever you have, really." Maggie's mouth opens abruptly, then it closes even quicker. Bev looks at her with a hieroglyph eye; She faces Richie but her gaze is turned entirely toward Maggie.

* * *

The door shuts behind the girls with a bang. The house could be stubborn; doors wouldn’t shut or open without a hundred newtons of force, windows would get stuck half-way open, even lightswitches were hard to flip in old places. Richie’s always liked that about the house. It’s rustic, old, full of history.

Even the bath water that hurts his skin has history. His feet brush the hot, steaming well water, making him jump back in pain. He clenches his teeth in frustration, taking a deep breath and sliding his foot back in gently.

_ A well. Like in the old stories. Maybe there are coins in there, treasures, memories.  _

Richie soaks in the water, closing his eyes and falling dazed. He’s as limp as the tea bag sitting in the pot on the stove. The bath water is a tea brown, too. Light, like an iced coffee. The oils, soaps, and salts have all dissolved and mixed into a murky, light yellow-brown with colour at the edges. 

There isn’t just one colour to describe it, nor hundreds. It's just a spectrum. Colours cannot be classified, they just are.

* * *

_ “It’s not black and white, Eds. It's a spectrum. You can be whatever you want. I mean, you’re not exactly being anything in particular, but uhh...” _

_ “I get it.” Eddie scoots closer to Richie in the bed. His body’s cold under the blanket. The heater was broken in Richie's room. Guess being in an old house has its disadvantages.  _

_ “So technically, you can still be straight, yeah? And like boys too.” Richie offers. He rubs the top of Eddie’s head, gaining a small smile.  _

* * *

He sighs sadly, a pitiful sight. The water ripples with the shaky exhale. Richie lifts up his finger out of the water, letting the water that stuck to his skin drip down and ripple in the colourful water. He throws his head back and mumbles. 

“I wish you’d listen to me.” He rolls his eyes, letting out the drain. 

The air feels cold against Richie’s skin, the heat of his body radiating off into the cooler air. He shivers, lifting his towel up over his chest like a woman. He crosses his arms, sitting on the bathroom rug.

Richie's outfit is… It's a mess, as his mother would put it frankly; but it's an "Eddie Outfit" he's deemed, thousands of times. In essence, it's an outfit compiled of gaudy bullshit Eddie's gotten him, or that Eddie told him  _ not  _ to get. He has at least seven different outfits he could wear and deem an "Ed-fit." Another name for them (that's, honestly, even worse.)

He drags his pink feet down the stairs, letting them gather friction against the ugly carpet. The smell of green tea wafts through the musty air, followed by the sound of chatter and laughing.

"What the hell!" The laughter stops abruptly, its final echo ringing against the walls and hitting Richie. "What the hell are you wearing, Richard?" Maggie forces back another outburst of laughter, a photo album on her knees that crosses into Beverly's lap. 

“I could say the same to you, Margret!”

“What are you wearing?”

“No! ughh… What the hell!” Richie’s lopsided sleeves dangle unevenly over his thin forearms, his hands gesturing heavily to the photo album in Maggie’s lap. Beverly’s still entranced by the different pictures, all taken and put in order according to date. 

Maggie laughs again and opens her mouth to speak; her lips dangle apart with an exhale of laughter when she’s startled by the noise of the telephone.

She pulls the album out of her lap, placing it in Bev’s and beginning to stand. Richie’s hand rests on her shoulder quickly, before escaping after a brief, “I’ll get it, Ma!” 

Richie’s fingers twist at the string the second he picks up the phone.

_ “Hello?” _


	9. Alabelle's Lullaby // The Nurse said I'll be okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie meets a friend in the dark, And Eddie pays a visit to the backyard.
> 
> It's a bit short, but I'll update another chapter soon! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning//!!  
> I know this has always been a bit grey, but this story has themes of self h^rm, Anxiety attacks, and other things some viewers may find disturbing. Read at your own risk and make sure not to push yourself!! I'll put a summary at the end of you don't want to read all of it :)  
> If you'd like to read everything before this content, end at the market where Stan stops talking  
> Stay safe! and thanks for 300+ hits!! This is super exciting!!

_ “Hello?” _

“R-Ruh-Richie? Eddie c-came o-over. He’s in Juh-Juh-Georgie’s room right n-now? Did you d-do something?”

_ Of course,  _ he  _ thinks  _ I  _ did something. It’s never the other way around, so I can’t blame him for thinking  _ I’m  _ the suspect; can I? _

_ “Richie?” _

“Cool your jets, bud. Gimme a second to think through this first. I got a lotta shit on my mind,  _ sorry.” _

Richie slumps against the wall, his lips a petulant pout. The phone dangles near the wall next to him. He drags himself solemnly to the kitchen from the hall, sliding a canister of barbecue Pringles out of a cabinet. 

“I did do something,” Richie puts a Pringle in his mouth, stretching it wide enough to fit the chip inside without taking a bite out of it first.

_ “You’d better not get any fucking crumbs on my bed, Tozier, or I’m going to use all of your gaudy fucking shirts as a comforter.” Eddie opened his mouth, signalling for Richie to put another Sour Cream and Onion Pringle in his mouth. He sat his book down on the floor, rolling his eyes and taking a deep breath with the chip still hanging half out of his mouth. He slipped it between his fingers like Richie’s dad held a cigarette. “Watch me,” Eddie put the concave bottom of the chip as flat as it would go to his tongue. The edges of his lips stretched far to his ears. The entire chip fit inside his mouth; not a crumb on his shirt, nor his pink lips.  _

_ “Easy-peasy.” _

“Well… w-what did you duh-do, then?” 

“Did you ask Eddie what I did yet?”

“No, but I don’t s-ee how that’s r-relevant.”

“Just ask him. He’ll tell you.” His tongue snapped a chip into smaller pieces. Richie swallowed; both his chip and his pride. The feeling that was once rolling its eyes with sass, now has a quivering lip and tearful stares. Richie’s own lip quivers into a frown.

“And… When he tells you what I did, or said, that was wrong… Translate the message for me, huh? You’re smart, you’ll understand what I did a hundred years before I even get the second clue. Let Georgie know that I love him, and I’ll be by soon. I promise.”

_ Klik. _

_ Eeeeiie. _

_ “Rich?” _

The ripples in the quarry water met with each other. Birds seemed to scream at each other from treetops. They all drowned out the sound of the water.

The sun was setting soon. The chatter was dying down already, and the stars were already dim.  _ Sleep in the clubhouse tonight. It’s… whatever day it is now. Maggie must be freakin’ out. Can’t be more spooked or scared than me at the moment though. Well, unless you’re running from the cops. I’m running from something too; so same difference. _

_ I need to go somewhere, talk to someone. But where the hell am I going to go? _

“What the hell are you doing here so late at night?”

__

“Mikey?” Mike’s broadened shoulders were covered by blue and pink flannel sleeves. Richie was the one that actually offered to make the shirt in the first place. The other halves of both shirts were ripped. Richie used part of the pink flannel to make a small pillow case and stuff it with old plush toy stuffing. 

Richie wiped his eyes, hoping Mike wouldn’t notice through the light of the moonrise. The harder he tried to shush the tears, the more they wanted to peek through the blinds. He took off his glasses, running the bottom of his palm against his tear ducts. 

Then he gave up. 

Richie wasn’t in the quarry, he was in Mike’s arms. He wasn’t at home, silently crying by the phone or hyperventilating in the bathroom. He isn’t being put on the spot, or blamed, or judged. Right now; he is being  _ loved.  _ And that’s all he wanted now. 

The pressure of Richie’s fingernails driving into the back of Mike’s shirt almost caused a new hole. He can feel the dampness of Mike’s blood seeping through a cut he gave Mike through the thick flannel.

He held Mike tightly, like if he let go it’d be the biggest mistake of his life. 

__

“Come sleep over at my place. I promise, I keep the bed warm. You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. But I’m here. And I love you, Rich.” Richie cried again, not trying to hide anything or stay quiet. He was afraid, vulnerable, and cold. 

“Let’s get ourselves home.” Mike whispers. Richie just sniffs and nods.

* * *

Alabelle laid down next to Richie, her dirtied wool being pat by his course hands. Mike sits down next to Alabelle, holding two small horse hair brushes. He gives the one covered in animal stickers to Richie. His hands wander across her matted wool, brushing then running his hand behind the brush’s path. Richie follows his example, smiling.

The moonlight seeped through the roof of the barn. Mike and Richie were laughing together as Mike’s herd dog, Luce, chased her tail. Mike brushed through Richie’s hair with the horse hair brush they’d used on Alabelle earlier, braiding the longer strands with his smoothly cold fingers. Mike never asked about what happened; Richie assumed he’d already known. 

Mike didn’t know, but it wasn’t any of his business, he thought. All that mattered was that Richie was smiling again. The tear streaks on his cheeks still resided, but they almost vanished against the red blush of his smile. 

* * *

> -meanwhile-

Maggie and Bev hear a soft knock on the door. It’s rhythmic, rehearsed. 

“Hello?” Stan calls from the other side of the door, “I’m here.”

Beverly rushes for the door upon hearing his voice, her smile apparent despite her worry. Her worry about Richie’s whereabouts, his mentality, his fucking  _ heart _ . Cool air flooded in when Bev opened the door, her green-blue eyes clouding with joy.

“Stan! What are you doing?” Her eyes are wide with shock. Stan gazes around, his vision darting to the stairs. His curls are loose, falling like his pale green, tweed jacket sleeves. 

"Rich and Bill insisted I stay over. What the heck are you doing here? Where is everyone else??"

Bill came back into his room from the hall, holding a plate with a few brownies; Eddie was laying with a plush bear in his arms. He sniffled again, shaking and clinging to the bear like if he let go he’d…

_ Break. _

His whole body shook like an earthquake. His voice was even shakier, using every ounce of strength he had just to form a sentence. 

_ “I’m going out… outside for a min… a minute.” _

The sky was a heavenly navy colour. Stars fluxing from dim to bright. Eddie’s soft brown eyes water, tears reflecting the orange burning ball of gas, thousands of miles away. 

“God dammit. God **_fucking_** dammit!” 

_ The miserable have no other medicine but only hope _

“I can’t do this right now!” Eddie throws his head back, biting his lip red. His brown hair stuck to his face. His sweaty palms grab at his clammy arms. Eddie’s face falls between clammy, crossed arms. Tears drip off the tip of his nose onto the wooden back porch of Bill’s backyard. His fingers tear into his skin; leaving pink and red marks that his mother would pester about and Richie would-

Eddie gripped even harder, tore even deeper, cried even louder.

_ Richie would… Richie would gasp loudly. But, not like he did when he was joking. His pretty eyes would widen and he’d pull Eddie close to look at his skin.  _

_ “What did you do?” He’d whisper. He never sounded angry, he almost always sounded sad.  _

_ “The nurse said it was an anxiety attack. She said it’d be fine. They’re just scratches, they wont even scab.” _

_ “I don’t give a shit! Eds… You’ve gotta tell someone if something’s wrong. Please. Promise me. Eddie, promise me you’ll tell someone if you’re afraid or anxious.” Richie’s hands dug into Eddie’s back, his forearms tightly pressing against his scapula. Eddie’s lip quivered, then he smiled. His white socks and grey Converse stood on their ends, hugging Richie with his scratched arm slugged over Richie’s shoulders. _

_ “I can promise that. I promise that.”  _

Eddie held himself tightly; hoping to feel more like he was being hugged rather than having an anxiety attack on his best friend’s back porch in the cold night air. His chest was heavy, he felt like he needed to shiver or yawn. His breathing became forced, his hand shaking. His throat felt clogged by what felt like black water, and his ears were ringing. His knuckles, though blind and shadowed by faint light of the new moon, were visible red and white. Every time he tried, steadying his breathing, loosening his grip, spitting nothing but saliva on to the dirt under the porch, all of that pain was drowned by tears and snot. 

He cried himself into a sobbing mess, regaining the rhythm of his breath. 

“Flowers… Tree house… Wind chimes… Trees… Stars… Swings...” Eddie whispered aloud. The ringing stopped, leaving in waves. He coughed, the black water draining. His skin was warm again, soft from all the moisturiser and oil he used. His vision was blurry, but the smell of evening air and the symphony of crickets buzzing in his ear. He wiped at red eyes with balled fists

“You have to go back inside. Come on, go inside. Tell him you have to go.” Eddie pulled himself up slowly, standing at the edge of the porch and wavering off of the side in an anxious attempt not to vomit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richie talks to Mike, then goes to the farm with him and hangs with Mike's sheep, Alabelle!  
> INTERMISSION; Stan goes to Richie's house and is very confused  
> Eddie has a panic attack in Bill's backyard, then has a flashback of another Panic attack from school. His fingers make red marks on his arms, then he grounds himself using a surroundings technique.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and I hope you liked it!! I might add it to Wattpad, so be on the lookout soon! It'll be under the same name :)  
> I hope you're all well!  
> Love, Lance

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for Reading TwT  
> I love y'all! 💛
> 
> *Comment Your Fanfic Requests lol*


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